


Honey, Child, to a Swarm of Bees

by Dira Sudis (dsudis)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gangbang, HYDRA Husbands, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Self-Harm, Stun Batons, Torture, hydratrashmeme, spider gag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 18:09:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2591207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsudis/pseuds/Dira%20Sudis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Just one last thing, Soldier. For the duration of this mission, your call sign is <em>Cap</em>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honey, Child, to a Swarm of Bees

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/gifts).



> This story was written over at hydratrashmeme for the following prompt:
> 
>  
> 
> _Y'all know the comic with Department X dressing the Soldier up as Captain America for a training exercise?_
> 
>  
> 
>  _Can someone HYDRA dress him up for sexual purposes? Maybe they have a thing for being pounded by Captain America, maybe the STRIKE team wants to work out aggression by horribly degrading him._ In case the tags do not make it clear, I took the "horribly degarding" option.
> 
> Many thanks to feanor_in_leather_pants, Rubynye, Lauralot, and all the other trashbabies who encouraged this. Title is from U2's "Even Better than the Real Thing."

The Soldier was aware that he had two purposes. One--his tactical purpose--he had already served today, by going out on a mission with the STRIKE team. He had performed the assigned assassination smoothly, without complications or flaws, to the apparent satisfaction of his handlers. He had been brought back to base for routine maintenance and required no repairs, only cleaning and the application of normal nutrient solution and medical supplements through the standard intravenous lines. 

He was still in the maintenance lab, seated naked on a table after being inspected for damages and cleaned. He was still connected to the IV drip. He was waiting. 

His second purpose was recreational. When he was serving his recreational purpose he had to be very still and cooperate with whatever was required of him. He fulfilled this purpose with the same precision as his tactical purpose, but he was aware, as he sat naked on the cold table, waiting, that he preferred his tactical purpose. It was not his place to desire, or to hope, only to wait, but as he waited, he allowed himself to think that he might be waiting for another mission, or a return to cryo storage. 

Rollins entered after a time, carrying a large black duffel of the sort that usually transported tactical gear. One of the medical technicians was with him. The Soldier did not move or react, only waited, but he waited very attentively. 

The technician approached him first. "Open."

The Soldier opened his mouth as directed, and the technician placed a number of pills on his tongue. "Swallow."

The Soldier swallowed. 

"Mark time," the technician said. "Thirty minutes."

Rollins nodded and touched the watch on his wrist, which made a beeping noise. The Soldier also automatically began to track the passage of time. Thirty minutes to something important. The technician retrieved a rarely-used hygiene kit and said, "Hold still now."

The Soldier held still while he was given a quick but close shave. The technician finished by applying a cream to his skin that had a faint smell. The smell triggered some odd association, but the Soldier pushed down the random working of his mind in favor of focusing on Rollins, who had moved around behind him and was slicking down the Soldier's hair to make it fit under some sort of stretchy cap which covered it completely. Before the Soldier could wonder at the purpose of this, Rollins removed a wig from the duffel bag and fit it over the cap, attaching it with glue around the edges. The wig was of short blond hair, and something about this heightened the strange associations from the smell of the shaving lotion, but the Soldier pushed away the strange mental images. He would not be distracted. He awaited orders. He was being prepped.

The technician said, "Arm," and the Soldier held out his left arm at the standard angle for inspection and minor servicing. The technician reached into the black duffel and pulled out something flesh-colored: a shoulder-high glove. The Soldier did not see the inner surface of the glove before it was pulled on, but he felt the tiny contacts of metal on metal as it was settled into place over his arm. There was some sort of circuitry lining the glove, perhaps intended to enhance his arm's function even while disguising it. The technician reached over and plucked the IV from his right hand, and said to Rollins, "All yours," before he walked out.

Rollins came around in front of the Soldier and looked him over, then nodded and waved to the duffel. "Extra mission tonight. You're almost ready. Gear up."

The Soldier got to his feet and reached into the duffel. He found not his normal black leather and kevlar tactical gear, but a barely-armored jumpsuit of bright blue, with a white star on the chest and red and white stripes on the abdomen. It seemed to have been designed to draw eyes and bullets to vital locations. The Soldier pulled it on with nothing beneath, since no other clothing had been provided. Strategy was not his concern; if this was the gear provided to him, it must be required for the mission. The Soldier did not question his missions. 

He pulled on the brown leather boots and gauntlets provided, noting as he did that his arms were completely covered. This would seem to obviate the need for the camouflage of the flesh-colored sleeve on his left arm, but this was also not his concern. 

There were, however, no weapons in the bag, only a flat wooden disc with some leather straps attached. The Soldier looked at Rollins, who was smiling slightly. "Pick it up, Soldier. That's all the gear you'll need on this one."

Moving slowly, though the uniform he wore did not at all impede him, the Soldier picked up the disk and slung it on his left arm by the straps. The outside surface was painted in concentric circles of red and white, with a white star in blue at the center. It was more a target than a shield, especially since the material was so flimsy. 

"Sir," the Soldier said, knowing better than to request a briefing before it was offered.

"This is going to be a tough mission, Soldier," Rollins said. He did not look as though he anticipated difficulty, despite his words, but only his words were the Soldier's business. "It's Crossbones. Rumlow's a traitor, and you're going to apprehend him."

The Soldier did not actually look down at his gaudy clothing, target-shield, and lack of weaponry, but he made the tactical evaluation and came up with a significant problem. 

"You're not going to need any more than this, Soldier," Rollins assured him, gripping his shoulder--the metal one, and through the layers he wore the Soldier could barely feel the touch. "But I want to be clear: Rumlow must be taken into custody alive, and failure is not acceptable. No matter how the mission goes, no matter what Rumlow does, you must not stop fighting to take him down. You absolutely do not kill him, but if he gets you down and there's nothing else you can do, you spit in his face. Am I clear? No surrender. That's your mission. You take him alive, and you fight all the way on this."

The Soldier nodded. He didn't know why Rollins was preoccupied with the possibility of failure--clearly this mission, odd and unexpected as it was, had been planned meticulously--but he would succeed, and under no circumstances would he surrender.

"Okay," Rollins said. "You're almost ready." 

He reached into the duffel and pulled out the last item: a blue helmet with a built in mask that covered the top half of his face, an odd reverse of his normal black mask. It did make some sense of the shaving, though it covered the blond wig as thoroughly as the suit and gloves covered his arm. The Soldier simply buckled the strap and waited.

"Come here," Rollins said, leading him over to a mirror. "Take a look at yourself."

The Soldier looked--tried to look--could not quite see himself in the blue suit with red and white decorations. There was a haze of other images in his mind, and he had no time for such things. He had a mission to complete. Memories were not relevant to the mission. He must apprehend Rumlow, who was a traitor. He averted his gaze from the mirror until the strange memory-images ceased.

"Looking good," Rollins said, smiling again. "Just one last thing, Soldier. For the duration of this mission, your call sign is _Cap_."

Rollins led him down to the squad room where the STRIKE team liked to relax after missions. This was a logical place to find Rumlow and apprehend him. the Soldier could have suggested better ways to isolate and trap him, but it was not his place to plan missions. 

"Stay here," Rollins ordered quietly. "I'll go first, check the situation, call you in. Remember, you're going to take Rumlow alive, and you never stop fighting."

The Soldier nodded to indicate understanding, and Rollins went into the squad room. Rumlow called out his usual enthusiastic greeting to Rollins. From the sounds of the other greetings echoing Rumlow, the entire team was assembled as well as some other operatives and technicians; perhaps a dozen in all. Perhaps this was why the Soldier did not need weapons. If Rollins and the others were all loyal, perhaps they would supply the firepower. 

Briefly, the Soldier contemplated the possibility that Rumlow would come quietly when informed that his treason had been discovered. He thought he would have better odds of killing a target by firing randomly into the air and waiting for a bullet to fall on them. 

The room had gone quiet after the initial greetings; there were some whispers, and then Rumlow said loudly, though not angrily, "You're fucking shitting me, Jack." 

It occurred to the Soldier that the countdown Rollins had begun back in the maintenance lab was now down to ten minutes. 

"Cap!" Rollins shouted. "Get in here! Time for your mission!"

The Soldier entered the squad room, abruptly aware that he had been given no cuffs or other restraints with which to secure Rumlow, no briefing on where to take him for confinement, and no procedure on how exactly to arrest a STRIKE team leader. 

Rollins stood with his arms folded and a stern expression, the most serious the Soldier had seen from him yet. Rumlow was smiling, open mouthed, one hand on the stun baton holstered at his hip. 

"Rumlow," the Soldier said, aware that he must not let the object of his mission control the momentum. "You're under arrest."

Rumlow laughed, looking the Soldier up and down. "Cap," he said. "Oh my God, you got me an actual Cap."

The Soldier moved in on Rumlow--once he had secured Rumlow the rest would follow--and Rollins and everyone else in the room dodged out of the way. In the absence of any other weapon, the Soldier swung the wooden shield on his left arm toward Rumlow's chest; he couldn't go for the head without risking killing him. Skull fractures were tricky.

Rumlow leaped back out of the way of the Soldier's swing, and for an instant the Soldier thought that Rumlow had shot him at the same time. Pain flared white-hot up his left arm and radiated through his body, causing the muscles of his chest and back to seize briefly. The actual motion of his arm was impeded so that Rumlow was able to dodge the blow. 

It was the sleeve, the Soldier realized. Whatever the electrical system was intended to do, it must be malfunctioning, feeding back painful stimulus in proportion to the force of its movement. Not surprising, for a first test of the equipment, but inconvenient. The Soldier shifted to a right side attack, but the instant required to recalculate allowed Rumlow to bring the stun baton around, and the Soldier paid for the punch he landed on Rumlow with a snap of the baton against the top of his left thigh. The baton was turned up to the maximum setting: pain radiated through the Soldier's entire body, and for an instant the limb went beyond pain into a kind of numbness. 

The Soldier instinctively compensated by striking left-handed again, and this time succeeded in slamming the shield into Rumlow's ribs, but again his left arm responded incorrectly. Rumlow wrapped his arm around the shield, pinning the Soldier close while the painful feedback from the arm shot through him. Rumlow followed up by cracking the stun baton across the side of the Soldier's neck. Pain enveloped him from the crown of his head down his right side, but the reflexive arch of his body at least carried him backward. Soldier shook loose of the shield and retreated two steps to regroup as the pain slowly ebbed from blinding to irritating, leaving a throbbing burn on the bare skin of his neck.

Rumlow stood there, grinning like a mad dog with the stun baton in one hand and the shield in the other. Rollins stood off to the Soldier's left, still watching with his arms folded, still offering no useful support to the Soldier's mission. The rest of the bystanders stood huddled together on the other side. 

"That all you got, Cap?" Rumlow demanded.

The Soldier knew it was bad tactics to respond to a taunt at the same time he lunged forward. Something was not quite right with his movements. His ability to control his body was impaired. He grabbed at the shield instead of going for a disarming blow, and Rumlow landed yet another blow, knocking him slightly off balance. 

They scuffled, and the Soldier knew his blows were imprecise, even his right arm delivering less power than it should. He punched Rumlow twice and then grabbed for his wrist, but Rumlow hit him again with the stun baton and slammed the shield into his face before the Soldier could close his grip. The helmet partially deflected the blow, but it still snapped his head back. The Soldier was already off balance when Rumlow slammed the stun baton down onto his left arm.

Everything vanished into white, fiery pain, and the Soldier was dimly aware that he was screaming, and even more dimly aware that the stun baton must be overloading the already-faulty circuitry in the sleeve. Rumlow's grin looked ecstatic, as though he also were transported somewhere else by the Soldier's blinding pain. In the instant when the pain let up from paralyzing to merely agonizing because Rumlow had lifted the baton, the Soldier swung a right hook at that grin, trying to close the circuit.

The blow connected at the same moment the pain started again--a stun baton slamming into his crotch this time, from behind. The Soldier had allowed himself to be distracted, and someone else had joined the fight. He arched back into his second attacker, slamming his helmeted head into the unseen face, but he was thrown off balance again. His equilibrium was affected too easily; something was wrong. The pain wasn't fading the way it should, but making his body an awkward instrument, poorly guided. He grabbed wildly at the shield--Rumlow shouldn't have it, and it would be a good weapon if the Soldier could only get hold of it again. 

Rumlow slammed it edge-on into the Soldier's throat, then kicked him in the chest, sending him staggering back again. He tripped over the man who'd hit him from behind, stumbled, scrabbled for the second stun baton. 

Something was wrong. The countdown persisting in his brain informed him that there were eight minutes left before something happened, and something was already very wrong.

Rumlow kicked him in the chest again, square in the center of the white star, knocking him back from the stun baton on the ground. The one he'd tripped over rolled under him, tangling his feet, and there were more hands on him now. He snarled and shoved unscientifically, throwing the blunt object of his body against the people crowding in around him. The Soldier found himself disoriented by the press; no one ever pushed this close to him during missions, and now he couldn't breathe or tell up from down.

Then there was pressure around his wrists, and _down_ was abruptly defined as the mag cuffs hauled him to the floor. He hit with a jolt, and more cuffs clamped down on his ankles. He struggled reflexively against his bonds, sending more feedback-pain sizzling up his left arm and setting up mere dull pressure through the leather protecting his other extremities. 

The Soldier looked around for Rollins, and found him standing near the door, which the Soldier was now facing from his place pinned down on the floor in the middle of the room. Rollins still had his arms folded across his chest, and he mouthed, _Remember your mission,_ when the Soldier's unsteady gaze found him. 

The Soldier nodded sharply and continued to struggle. He might be able to loosen the clamps or catch someone in an unwary moment. As if to reward him for persistence, one of the dozen others leaned in close enough for the Soldier to slam his head into the man's mouth, and the man reeled back, spitting blood. Rollins smiled slightly.

Rumlow stepped into his line of sight, blocking his view of Rollins. Rumlow still held the shield, and the Soldier threw himself against the cuffs and heard a sharp crack from somewhere below his left ankle, as if something in the floor had given way. The cuffs didn't budge, though, and he remained trapped. 

Rumlow laughed and shook the shield, and the Soldier remembered that this was the same way a matador might taunt a bull. He shook his head, feeling as dull and wild as an animal. Out of control. _Something was wrong_. How had the mission gone so far from the plan so quickly?

Maybe this was part of the plan. Rollins wasn't alarmed yet. This had to be part of the plan. That was why Rollins had told him to persist: there was a second phase to the mission. Likely the second phase would start in about five minutes.

Rumlow was still laughing, still shaking the shield, but the Soldier kept his gaze steady and struggled just enough to make it clear that he wasn't surrendering.

"You know what time it is now, Cap?" Rumlow asked. "Time for birthday spankings. Granted it's my birthday, not yours, but you know what they say--better to give than to receive. I'm not about to break my hand on your ass, so I'll just have to use something sturdier, won't I?"

Rumlow shook the shield at him again, in case the Soldier had not taken his meaning, and the Soldier, remembering what Rollins had said, raised his head and spat in Rumlow's direction.

Rumlow smiled. "Save that, Cap. You're gonna need it."

Then he walked around the Soldier. The Soldier followed Rumlow, craning his head over his shoulder; he saw the way Rumlow didn't hesitate to swing the shield up and bring it down, full force, on the Soldier's ass. The blow rocked his whole body forward, wrenching all his limbs against their restraints and making his head snap forward. 

"Wait, no," Rumlow announced. "What am I thinking? Bare-ass spankings for Cap, right guys?"

There was a ragged chorus of assent and encouragement, and the weight of multiple bodies landed on his back and lower legs. The Soldier struggled anyway, bucking under the weight. He didn't have the leverage to throw any of them off, and Rumlow was not distracted from his task. The point of a knife occasionally sliced into the Soldier's flesh as the back of the blue jumpsuit was cut away to reveal his buttocks and the backs of his thighs. What was left of the front of the suit sagged away from his crotch and legs, leaving his genitals dangling, unprotected. The weight was lifted from the rest of his body, making him free to fight his restraints again, and Rumlow made another delighted noise.

"Still Commando after all these years, huh, Cap? I knew you were just waiting for the chance to really swing your cock around for us. Well, here you go--" and with a faint _whoosh_ the shield whistled through the air again, this time cracking against bare skin already bruised from the last impact. 

There was no counting of blows, no particular rhythm--after the first rapid flurry Rumlow would pause from time to time to survey his handiwork or choose the next target. In these pauses the Soldier felt the throbbing pain of the dull impacts, felt his blood trickling down his thighs from the incidental cuts and from places where the skin split under repeated impact. The Soldier was dimly aware of Rumlow leveling further taunts, or exchanging the usual sort of downtime banter with the others in the room.

Not Rollins, though. Rollins stayed implacably posted by the door, watching the Soldier, silently reminding him of his duty. The Soldier kept fighting when blows rained down over his ass and thighs and the small of his back and his shoulders. The pain blended into the strange weakness in his muscles, the swimming of his vision and the moments when only the cuffs holding him to the floor let him know for certain that he was attached to the earth at all. 

He was barely aware of counting anymore when he knew that the remaining five minutes had elapsed. _Time_.

Nothing happened. Rumlow hit him again and again, and the Soldier still struggled and was still unable to make any effective resistance. The pain itself, accumulating as the beating went on, seemed to change its nature, becoming sharper instead of woozy and dull. The contact seemed to propagate all over his body regardless of where Rumlow struck, and he was aware not only of pain but of more insidious sensations: the particular touch of the fabric of his uniform sliding against his back and sides and calves, the passage of air over his hot abused skin. Even the flowing of blood down his thighs felt like a kind of caress.

Rumlow struck him again, a blow like any other, and a groan was forced out of the Soldier's throat as the sensations crystallized and his cock hardened in a sudden rush. Rumlow didn't take immediate notice, raining down further blows that only added to the onslaught of sensation, making the Soldier's cock harder despite the pain. 

This had to be an effect of the pills; it was getting stronger with every passing moment. The Soldier flexed against his restraints, testing; whatever had weakened and confused him seemed to be fading as the aphrodisiac took hold.

He remembered the technician placing the pills on his tongue. It had been the technician who put the sleeve on him, too. The technician was a saboteur--clearly in league with Rumlow. The Soldier looked to Rollins again. He found Rollins still watching calmly, unsurprised by this turn of events, though he had to be able to see the strange way the Soldier was reacting to the beating. 

This had to be part of the plan: flushing out other traitors, perhaps. That explained why Rumlow had been approached in a group setting. Rollins wanted to see how many would join him. Even the costume must serve some purpose in that direction. 

The Soldier nodded slightly to Rollins and renewed his struggles despite the aching hardness between his legs and the pain that otherwise engulfed his body unrelentingly. Feedback flared from his left arm and the pain of being beaten accumulated faster than he could heal everywhere else, but none of his injuries were debilitating. The Soldier would not fail in his mission.

When a loud cracking noise accompanied a blow to his back, the Soldier briefly considered the possibility that his ribs had snapped under the impact. Rumlow laughed, however, and came around to face him, crouching to look him in the eye as he wagged the two broken pieces of the shield. 

"Guess maybe you've had enough, then," Rumlow said, and the Soldier lunged at him, teeth bared. 

Rumlow shoved one half of the shield under his jaw, forcing his head up, and despite his returning strength the Soldier was in no position to resist that pressure. 

"Hey," Rumlow said, still sounding amused. "Look at that, Cap _liked_ his birthday spankings. I thought you might be that kind of pervert, Cap. Lucky thing for you I'm the other kind, isn't it?"

Rumlow stared at him, waiting for something. He jabbed the shield harder against the Soldier's throat. "Answer me, Cap. Don't you feel lucky right now?"

The Soldier couldn't look at Rollins. He couldn't draw Rumlow's attention to him; he couldn't show the weakness of looking for an order from his handler. He stuck to his mission. 

"You're a traitor," the Soldier gritted out. "You're under arrest."

Rumlow's face transformed into a kind of disbelieving delight. "I'm under arrest! You hear that guys? Cap says I'm under arrest. That's great, Cap. You gonna hit me with your nightstick there if I don't come along quietly? _Answer me_."

The Soldier stared at him, searching for an answer. He'd already tried spitting, and he had no doubt Rumlow would demand he give a verbal response. He could repeat the same words again, to the same effect, or he could say the only word that encapsulated his mission. _Don't stop fighting. Don't stop resisting._

The Soldier gathered himself for the effort, looked Rumlow--erstwhile handler, team leader, traitor--in the eye and said, " _No._ "

Rumlow laughed again. He lunged in, quick as a nerve-strike, to smash his mouth against the Soldier's, still open in that laugh. The Soldier barely had time to recognize the persistent, wet mouth-on-mouth contact as a _kiss_ \--no one ever kissed him, even when he was serving his recreational purpose--before he took advantage of the opportunity to bite, closing his teeth hard on Rumlow's lip. He tasted Rumlow's blood, and then the whole world dissolved in fire.

He heard himself screaming. He knew distantly that it was the stun baton overloading the sleeve on his left arm again, and then something cool and rigid was shoved into his open mouth, clicking into place between his teeth. The pain from his arm eased abruptly, allowing him to be aware of Rumlow's hand pressed flat against his face, holding the metal gag in place in his mouth. Rumlow rocked his hand, and the Soldier felt the pricking of sharpened metal pieces attached to the gag as they were pushed into his cheeks.

"You wanna fight, Cap, you oughta know." Rumlow said, bloody-mouthed and _still smiling_. "You're only gonna hurt yourself."

The Soldier managed to make a low sound like a drooling open-mouthed grow. Rumlow shook his head, digging two fingers in at the edge of the Soldier's eye socket while holding the gag in place, slightly impeded by the helmet. 

"Blackwell," Rumlow said, "gimme some help unwrapping this--"

Deft unseen hands unbuckled the helmet and pulled it off, and the Soldier distantly noted Blackwell as another traitor while Rumlow's unflaggingly pleased expression took another turn toward surprise. Rumlow looked over his shoulder--toward Rollins--and then ran his hand over the short golden hair of the wig covering the Soldier's head. 

"Oh God, Cap, you really are fucking perfect. This is going to be so much fun."

The same deft hands caught the straps of the gag, tightening them brutally around his head before fastening them. One of the back-curving points on the gag rested against the skin of his cheek, just waiting for some jostling to press it in. 

"Mostly fun for me," Rumlow added, taking his hand away when the gag was secured. "But don't worry, Cap, you'll get your sick little rocks off too."

Rumlow kissed him again, and the Soldier could not bite, could only clench his teeth against the gag. Rumlow's lips moved against and inside the forced-wide circle of his mouth, and Rumlow's tongue slid in, touching him everywhere inside. The Soldier tried to push Rumlow's tongue away with his own, which made Rumlow laugh and pull back enough to say, "Fuck, Cap's hot for it!" before kissing him again, slicking his tongue deliberately over the Soldier's until the Soldier changed tactics and smashed his forehead hard against Rumlow's.

Rumlow backed away, but not far: only enough to push up to his feet and open his pants, pulling his cock out. Rumlow grabbed a piece of the broken shield again, shoving it under the Soldier's jaw to make him lift his head. He stared into the Soldier's eyes as he forced his cock into the Soldier's gaping mouth. The Soldier couldn't look away, glaring ferociously up at the traitor. He struggled to move, to fight, to hurt him somehow. The intrusion of hot, firm flesh into his mouth ought to be an opportunity, but it choked him, forcing him to give way. He bit down as hard as he could, hoping to break his teeth against the gag and give himself sharp points to work with, but nothing gave way. Rumlow rocked his hips in and out, bruising the back of the Soldier's throat with the blunt force of his cock, making him gag a little before he pulled out. 

"Told you to save your spit, Cap, because that's all you're getting." With that, Rumlow walked around behind him and knelt between his spread legs. He delivered a bare-handed slap to the Soldier's ass, drawing his focus to that battered flesh. 

Light as it was, the blow shook through him, making the Soldier's cock jump, and the men around him called out encouragement. Rumlow reached around to grip the Soldier's cock with one hand, squeezing at the head until the Soldier couldn't hold back choked noises of confused pleasure and pain. Rumlow pressed against his asshole with two fingers of his other hand, and the Soldier shook his hips, trying to evade the touch, trying to close himself, to resist. 

Rumlow didn't immediately force his way in, though. He just kept touching, stroking. He was quick and ungentle, but he didn't force his way in. The Soldier's body knew that touch--it was familiar from serving his other purpose, the recreational purpose. He was abruptly aware that Rumlow had fucked him before, in his other capacity, when he could only lie still and suffer what was done to him. His body remembered the touch; more than that, his body responded to it, thanks to the drugs. He never felt much when he was being used recreationally, but Rumlow's probing fingers made his cock harder--made it spurt pre-come into Rumlow's other hand.

"There you go, Cap," Rumlow said. "I forgot you're a tight-assed little virgin, aren't you? You're gonna take some breaking in. You're gonna love this, though. I promise you that."

Rumlow brought his other hand back, slick with the Soldier's fluid, and pressed harder against his hole, getting it wet. His fingers penetrated just slightly now, and the Soldier's body fell into the known programming, accepting the intrusion when his orders demanded that he should fight it. Rumlow's fingers worked inside him, and his cock jerked again, untouched.

The men all around were laughing and cheering. There was another hand on his cock, stroking it, collecting more of the leaking fluid, and then Rumlow withdrew his fingers and the Soldier felt the pressure of his cock at his hole. He tried to snarl, but the noise came out as an open-mouthed moan, and his attempt to push Rumlow bodily away only pushed him back onto Rumlow's cock, his too-well-trained body easing the way.

"Aw, fuck, _Cap_ ," Rumlow worked his cock in slowly, then pulled out and slammed in hard, making the Soldier choke off a scream as the pain and stretching and merciless internal impact went straight to his cock. His balls tightened, and the strange intense pleasure of it made the pain that engulfed his body waver out of focus. Rumlow reached up and put a hand on the Soldier's head, ruffling the short hair of the wig. "Fuckin' tightest--such a sweet--fuckin'--present--"

Rumlow was fucking him in short hard thrusts, and the Soldier kept tugging at his restraints, searching for an opportunity to resist meaningfully. He couldn't reach Rumlow from here, couldn't do anything to him. He couldn't reach any of the other traitors, who were standing back and watching Rumlow fuck him.

"Hey," Rumlow said. "Jack, get over here, what are you doing holding up the wall?"

The Soldier looked up at Rollins, who still stood by the door, watching with his arms folded across his chest. Distantly the Soldier noted that Rollins had an erection. Rollins, he knew, had also fucked him when he was being used recreationally. 

His recreational use was separate. Recreational use didn't matter on a mission. When he was used recreationally he was required to be entirely passive; on a mission he was activated as a weapon.

Rollins had told him he had an extra mission. Rollins had ordered him to be a weapon. To fight. 

Rollins said, "You always gotta break your toys as soon as you get 'em, don't you?"

Rumlow fucked into the Soldier harder, making him grunt involuntarily, his wrists slamming against the cuffs. He knew somehow that all of Rumlow's attention was focused on Rollins, that his continued fucking was a display or just automatic movement, nothing to do with the Soldier.

"Fuck, fine," Rollins said, and walked forward. The Soldier watched him every step of the way, eyes on Rollins' face and not his crotch, even when it was directly in front of his face.

"Don't forget your mission," Rollins said firmly, and then added with a smirk as he unzipped, " _Cap_."

The Soldier was still, staring, for the few seconds it took Rollins to get his cock out. Rollins held his gaze while he swiped the head of his cock against the Soldier's chin, wet with the saliva that leaked uncontrollably from his open mouth. 

Rollins was with Rumlow; Rollins was a traitor; if Rollins was also a traitor the whole mission was meaningless.

Rollins stared down at him, rocking the wet head of his cock against the Soldier's lower lip, still not pushing in. The Soldier stared up at his handler.

There was no mission. No one was to be apprehended. The Soldier was being used recreationally.

Rollins shoved his cock in all at once, making the Soldier choke on it. His throat and his ass spasmed at the assault, tightening on Rumlow and Rollins. The Soldier's eyes closed reflexively, but that didn't matter. There was no new information to be gleaned from Rollins' gaze.

The Soldier was under orders. He could not revert to the passive, mostly-absent mode that went with being used recreationally. He had orders. He had a mission even if the mission did not exist. He had been ordered to fight.

It was not his place to consider the meaning of his orders, or to like them or dislike them. He had to obey, with perfect precision. And still, he found a certain profound satisfaction in squeezing his eyes shut, gathering his strength, and doing his level best to rip Rollins' cock off by thrashing his head around while Rollins was fucking his throat.

He got two results at once, neither productive: a hard punch in the back of the head and a wave of blinding pain from his left arm that vanished almost as quickly as it flared up, only to recur again and again. His body seized each time Rollins tapped his arm with the stun baton, and the gaps in between were only enough for him to make useless, uncontrolled movements. 

Rollins pulled his cock out and the Soldier heaved in a gasping breath. The sudden access to oxygen sent new sensation rushing through his whole body, making him aware of Rumlow's convulsive grip on his hips. His own cock was painfully hard, and he felt on the brink of something important, something necessary--like oxygen, like a mission, something--

Another tap on his arm, another flare of pain whiting out his body. He had his mouth free to scream through it this time, and nothing to distract him from Rumlow's cock inside him, being stimulated by his pain-wracked body with every flick of Rollins' wrist. When the pain stopped the Soldier heaved in another breath, and he tipped over into shocking, sudden orgasm at the first touch against his cock, even before he recognized the contact as a powered down stun baton stroking up the underside. He felt his cock spurting, untouched, and Rumlow was fucking him hard again, crowing about making him come. For several bewildering seconds the pain vanished, replaced by a pleasure that was more disorienting than pain had ever been.

He didn't feel much when they used him for recreational purposes. They had never made him feel this, or not often enough for a procedural memory to persist that would tell him how to deal with it. It was more immobilizing than pain, while it lasted.

It wasn't long before Rumlow reached his own climax, pulling out halfway through to finish with a few last spurts against the Soldier's ass. 

"Jack, get over here," Rumlow demanded, pulling out of the Soldier's ass. 

The Soldier heard the perfect synchrony of Rumlow's stun baton powering up as Rollins powered his down. Rumlow came around to the Soldier's side, and the Soldier swung his head like a blunt object and caught Rumlow solidly in the thigh. 

Rumlow retaliated with a tap of the baton against the back of the Soldier's neck that dropped him to the ground, screaming even after the contact stopped. Rollins grabbed him and hauled his hips back up, and the Soldier found that he could struggle _down_ much more effectively than up. He managed to break Rollins' grip and flatten himself again, knees and hips twisting to flatten his crotch to the cool solidity of the floor. He pressed his forehead down to keep from jamming any of the points on the gag into his face. His panting breath echoed back at him from the floor and he felt a moment's satisfaction at accomplishing a tactical objective.

In the next second he was thrown forward against his cuffs, pain exploding through his ass. It took him a moment to understand that there had been no stun baton this time. Rollins had kicked him squarely on his exposed asshole with a steel-toed boot. 

In the next second Rollins dropped flat over him, weight pressing him hard into the floor, Rollins' cock shoving into his throbbing hole, and the Soldier pushed up under him, getting his knees back under himself and pushing up. It meant pushing up into Rollins, but if he was going to get fucked it wouldn't be flat on the floor. Blows rained down on him and Rollins' cock--bigger than Rumlow's, stretching him and breaking him open all over again--thrust deeper inside him, but the Soldier fought his way up to his knees. This gambit resulted in a baton across his throat--powered down, but forcing his head back to the maximum arc his spine would allow, and then pressing harder, blocking his breathing.

The Soldier struggled against the bar on his throat, writhing on Rollins' cock and uselessly fighting his cuffs, twisting his head as though he might be able to get oxygen if he just got the right angle. His tongue stuck out from his open mouth. His vision began to darken and distort. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Rollins fucked him with merciless steadiness while Rumlow stood just at the edge of his peripheral vision, a smug shadow twirling a stun baton, admiring Rollins' handiwork.

Rumlow stiffened first, and then Rollins went still behind him, though he didn't slacken the pressure on the stun baton for another several seconds. When the Soldier could breathe he looked around even as he heaved in his first full breath, and he was aware that it was loud in the frozen silence.

Secretary Pierce was standing just inside the doorway, eyebrows raised, hands in the pockets of his suit pants. 

The Soldier was not a thing meant to feel hope, or relief. But he knew when a mission ended, and he felt it now. Pierce was here. Whatever had been going on here, it would end now. It was already over. Rollins had let him breathe. Rollins' cock was buried to the hilt inside him, but Rollins was holding absolutely still.

Pierce walked over to stand in front of him, and just like Rollins when he stood at that spot, Pierce looked down at the Soldier. The Soldier met Pierce's eyes. It was the correct way to show attention to his ultimate superior.

"So, gentlemen," Pierce said, in the genial, amused tone that sometimes indicated he was about to order someone killed. The Soldier watched him very, very attentively while he waited for orders.

"You've secured Cap--"

There were some syllables after _Cap_ , the Soldier saw, but they were only noise in his ears, unprocessed, like some of his trigger phrases that he only knew by the effect they had on him. Whatever this trigger was, it didn't do anything anymore; the internal firing mechanism had been taken away at some point. 

"Cap," Pierce said, speaking directly to the Soldier now. He brushed the back of his hand over the Soldier's false short hair. "It's nice to see you doing what you're told for once."

The Soldier's gaze didn't waver and his expression didn't change, but a bizarre out-of-place thought occurred to him on the heels of Pierce's words. The Soldier was only here because he always followed orders; he was only holding still with Rollins' cock in his ass, staring up at Pierce, because he _always followed orders_ , and now Pierce was acting like it was something unusual. Pierce was implying that he had to be restrained and beaten into submission to do what he was told--like every bit of his struggle wasn't in accord with his orders.

The thought came to the Soldier like a programmed procedure, resting complete and separate in his mind, but without any obvious application or relation to anything else he knew.

He thought, _This isn't fair_.

On the heels of the foreign, incongruous thought, he realized also that part of the--the _unfairness_ \--was that none of this was directed at him. _Cap_ was someone else's call sign, and he was wearing someone else's uniform and someone else's short blond hair, so that he could be punished for someone else's failure to follow orders. They could only use the Soldier for this purpose because _he_ followed orders so reliably; he was being punished for the one thing he never did wrong, exactly because he never did it wrong.

The Soldier stared up at Pierce and waited for the next thing to happen.

"Well," Pierce said, still with that genial smile. "Since you are following orders so very well today, Cap, I think we can dispense with some of these restraints. Take the cuffs off his wrists, please."

Rumlow's stun baton hovered just above the back of his neck; the Soldier could feel the charge of it through the narrow gap, and the hairs on his nape rose toward it. Two other men closed in from either side and released the mag cuffs from his wrists. The Soldier did not move. 

Pierce waved a negligent hand at Rumlow and said, "Straighten up, Cap. On your knees."

The Soldier took a fraction of a second to gather himself, knowing that Rumlow was in reach, that his arms were free, and yet he must not fight. Pierce's orders overrode Rollins' phantom mission. He could not fight. He must obey. He always obeyed.

He straightened up, keeping his face blank and his hands at his sides. Rollins was still behind him, still hard, still buried deep in his ass, and the motion of straightening up set off unruly bursts of pleasure-pain that echoed the injury reports from all over his body. He ignored all of it, focused on following orders. He made his posture as straight and perfect as it could be, pressing his back to Rollins' chest, his shoulders straight, chin raised just enough to allow him to look up at Pierce without rolling his eyes.

"And you won't need this, either," Pierce said, reaching behind his head to unfasten the gag. "Because you're going to keep your mouth open for me without it, aren't you, Cap?"

The Soldier didn't make a sound, didn't let his hands close into fists, didn't bite against the resistance of the gag for the last moment he had it between his teeth. Pierce would not allow him the ease of being forced. Pierce would require him to obey without props, without even a second's lapse, in the face of contradictory orders and with the strange, foreign thought echoing in his skull, making everything more difficult.

 _It's not fair_.

The Soldier held his mouth wide open as Pierce drew the dripping-wet gag away, conscious for the first time of the ache in his jaw. He felt a minute trembling in his face and neck from the effort of keeping his mouth stretched wide, and his back and arm were tensed with the work of keeping them still when he had targets within reach. Only his left arm, momentarily without painful feedback, was effortlessly still.

"That's better," Pierce murmured, and pulled a folded handkerchief from his pocket to blot fastidiously at the Soldier's drool-soaked chin, and then at the tiny bleeding wounds left by the points of the gag. 

"There, now," Pierce said, as though he'd solved anything, when the Soldier would still drool and bleed while Pierce held him frozen here under orders. Pierce raised his other hand, holding the gag against his palm so that the points curved out around his knuckles, and brushed the back of his hand against the Soldier's cheek. One of the curved points came so close to the Soldier's eye that his vision was filled with the bloodstained silver shine of it, but the Soldier did not close his eyes and did not flinch.

"Much better," Pierce decided, brushing his thumb over the Soldier's wet lower lip. 

He glanced further down the Soldier's body, observing the strange uniform, somewhat tattered by his activities thus far. 

"Take those gloves off him," Pierce directed. "Never liked the gloves."

The men who had taken the cuffs from his wrists stripped off the leather gauntlets, revealing his real hand and the false flesh-colored cover of the metal one. Pierce stared at this for a moment in fascination, then glanced past the Soldier to meet Rollins' gaze. 

Pierce winked.

Rollins rolled his hips, fucking into the Soldier, making him shiver with the effort of holding perfectly still. 

Pierce's gaze shifted down to the Soldier's groin. The Soldier was conscious that his cock was still hard, pressing against the place where his last orgasm had wetted the crotch of the uniform. Pierce raised one foot, pressing the toe of his shiny leather shoe against the Soldier's cock, prodding rather gently at the swollen flesh. A kick might have given him an excuse to move, but the firm touch forced him to tense every muscle just to keep still. He felt sweat break out on his temples and the back of his neck, and he could not help also clenching the muscles of his ass, tightening down on Rollins' cock inside him.

Pierce rocked his foot, rubbing along the underside of the Soldier's cock through the stiff fabric of the uniform. The Soldier kept his mouth open wide, his face expressionless, his gaze fixed on Pierce's eyes. He did not look down toward the front of Pierce's pants. He did not need to. 

He could not recall anything which indicated whether Pierce had ever used him for his recreational purpose before, but he didn't need that, either. 

"Observe," Pierce said, and the Soldier obediently lowered his gaze from Pierce's eyes to his hand. As expected, it was curled around his hard cock where it protruded from his unzipped pants. Pierce didn't expose any other skin.

"Tongue out a little more," Pierce directed casually, and when the tip of the Soldier's tongue covered his lower lip, Pierce said, "There. Perfect. Now don't... move... a muscle."

The Soldier braced himself to obey, anticipating the movement of Rollins inside him as Pierce spoke. It came as expected, and he held himself steady against the sensation. The Soldier watched Pierce's hand move. He kept his mouth open, his hands open at his sides. He kept still. 

There was a hard touch against the base of his cock--not through the uniform, as Pierce had touched him, but directly against the skin. It was Rollins' stun baton, held down below Pierce's line of sight. The Soldier carefully regulated his breathing, controlled every inch of his body to stillness, but he could not stop himself from feeling that teasing rigid touch against his achingly sensitive cock. 

Pierce rocked forward slightly to touch the head of his cock to the Soldier's tongue. Rollins shifted behind him, pulling his cock out in a slow, unsettling glide. Rollins coughed, somewhat camouflaging the sound as he pushed back in sharply; the Soldier could not look up to see if Pierce looked toward the sound. Pierce's hand didn't slow in its steady motion, and the Soldier tasted bitterness on his tongue, making his jaw ache in a different way as a further rush of saliva spilled from the corners of his mouth. 

Pierce pulled back slightly, swiping drool from the Soldier's chin and using it to slick his grip. Rollins jabbed his cock into the Soldier twice, and dragged the stun baton up the underside of his cock at the same time. The Soldier trembled with the effort of staying still. 

He never had any difficulty with keeping still when he was being used for his recreational purpose under normal circumstances. He often achieved a kind of unconsciousness, passive and allowing whatever anyone wished to do with his body. But his layers of orders would not allow him to be absent now; he had to strain to hold himself exactly still under the onslaught while also waiting for the opportunity to fight, holding himself carefully at bay. It meant he could not fail to feel everything that was done to him, and his skin felt shivery and tight, responding indiscriminately to all the stimulation it received. 

The Soldier could see exactly the way this was going to play out, and knew that he could do nothing to prevent it. The entire situation had been engineered to bring him to the failure he could see looming. 

He held himself perfectly still while Rollins fucked him less and less subtly, while Rollins gave his cock just enough friction with the edge of the stun baton that the Soldier had no hope of ignoring the sensations. Pierce continued to masturbate, slicked with the Soldier's dripping saliva, almost too close to his mouth for the Soldier to see. The Soldier watched, as directed. He followed orders.

He felt the inevitable crisis approaching, his cock stiffening painfully, his balls tightening. Failure might be averted, he thought, if Pierce finished first, but even as that calculation occurred the pace of Pierce's strokes slackened. Rollins shifted slightly behind him, fucking into him at a different angle and making him shiver again with the effort of not reacting to the altered stimulus. 

The stroking touch of the stun baton slid down over his balls, and the tip pressed in just behind them, so close to the place Rollins' cock entered him. The stun baton rested there, pressing firmly, and the Soldier realized that he had not foreseen exactly how unfairly he was about to be used.

He felt the pulse of electricity--a lower setting than he had ever experienced, almost not painful except that it made all his muscles tense, made his balls tighten and his cock jump. He felt Rollins' cock jerk inside him, as if the stimulation was transmitted through his flesh to Rollins. The slight shock repeated, and despite the intense wash of sensation the Soldier again managed to keep from making any visible movement, kept his mouth open and his eyes fixed on Pierce's cock, his hand almost perfectly still now.

He was not aware of the third shock except for its effect: a sudden, wracking orgasm, pleasure more intense than pain. His body inevitably escaped his control. He kept the movement small--his eyes closed and a groan escaped his throat as he trembled in place. His fists clenched as it went on, semen pulsing out of him, even as he opened his eyes to look where he'd been told to look.

He was just in time to see Pierce's fist swinging, and he forced himself to hold still as ordered, not shifting back to absorb the blow. Pain exploded through his face, and blood gushed from his nose immediately, down over his open mouth and down the back of his throat. Pierce's hand drew back unstained, and he shifted slightly further away as he said, "Are you going to do as you're told now, Cap?"

Direct question, but the Soldier had been ordered not to move, and implicitly not to make a sound, either. He answered by obeying, instead, knowing that if Pierce wanted to punish him further he would be punished regardless of what he did. Pierce stroked himself faster, so evidently he was satisfied with the Soldier's silence and his bloody nose. Rollins was mostly still now, letting the last internal spasms of the Soldier's orgasm work his cock while he held still.

The Soldier could breathe only through his mouth, and could not swallow to clear his mouth of blood without making a visible movement. He barely breathed at all, blood pooling on his tongue and dripping down his chin, while Pierce finished. After long moments in which the effort of keeping still occupied all of the Soldier's attention, Pierce finally climaxed, coming in spurts that struck the Soldier's mouth and dripped down his chin with the rest of the mess. 

"You see?" Pierce said, wiping himself off with the handkerchief and tucking himself away, the gag with its sharp points dangling from his left hand all the time. "You see how much easier everything is when you just cooperate?"

That was definitely a rhetorical question. The Soldier stayed still, his eyes still on Pierce's hands, despite the sudden sharp thrust of Rollins' cock in his ass.

Pierce turned away, and the Soldier tensed, waiting for it. No one moved. The end of the stun baton was still nestled behind the Soldier's balls. Rumlow still stood just outside his peripheral vision.

As Pierce stepped through the doorway, he dropped the Soldier's gag with a silvery clatter and waved one hand in a dismissive gesture. "As you were, gentlemen."

Original orders were now in force. 

The Soldier flung out his left arm to grab Rumlow, aiming for his crotch, and his right arm for the man who'd unfastened the cuff on that side and should have known better to stay in range. He heard Rumlow yell and Rollins pulled away from him, and the Soldier took some satisfaction in that much victory during the inevitable cascade of pain which followed. 

There was a blunt-force blow against his balls, and the white-out of a stun baton against his left arm, plus a hail of unscientific blows against his head and his right arm. He fought through it, struggling simply not to be pinned down again, but the weight of bodies and the inability to rise off his knees made it a foregone conclusion. 

When the mag cuffs were attached his wrists again, he fought against them, quickly bloodying his right wrist and setting off intense feedback in his left arm. He continued struggling anyway, snapping and battering with his hand until a shock baton and several hands pinned his head back.

Rumlow stood in front of him again, holding the gag. The Soldier spat blood and come all over him as Rumlow forced the thing back between his teeth, pressing hard to be sure of digging the points in against the Soldier's face. Rumlow shoved the business end of the stun baton into the Soldier's mouth--powered down, so far--and fucked his throat with it while Rollins shoved back into his ass. He'd tightened up enough while he fought that being fucked was a fresh sharp pain, and he voiced a choking scream out of sheer frustration. Rumlow laughed and patted his cheek, driving in the points of the gag on that side.

The Soldier struggled, choking on blood and the immovable obstacle of the stun baton, but accomplished nothing. Rollins fucked him fast, now, making up for lost time, and it didn't take long before he finished. Rumlow was stroking his own cock with his free hand--not hard again yet, but the Soldier could see the way this would go. They weren't going to let this go at one turn each.

Rollins pulled out of the Soldier's ass when he was done, and Rumlow withdrew the stun baton from the Soldier's mouth at the same time. He made a flourishing gesture with the thing, spraying the Soldier's blood and drool around the room as he did. "Okay, boys, Cap is officially open for business. Knock yourselves out. Jack, get over here and let me give you a big sloppy kiss, this is the best fuckin' present I've ever had."

Rollins laughed and came over to Rumlow, directly in front of the Soldier. Rollins had his pants down, and there was blood spattered on his thighs and his cock. Rumlow transferred his hand from his cock to Rollins' as he pulled him close, and the Soldier did not watch the kiss they exchanged, though he could not avoid hearing it. He had not been ordered to observe. He had been ordered to fight.

He recalled Rollins observing that Rumlow was prone to break his toys. He recalled what Rumlow had said when he attached the gag: _You'll only hurt yourself_.

Someone behind him shoved into his ass and moaned, and the Soldier heard the whine of a stun baton powering up somewhere to his left.

He could not apprehend anyone. He could not prevail in physical confrontation. But he could still fight. He could still inflict harm. He could deprive Rumlow of his present. 

The Soldier let his head hang between his arms, calculating as his gaze fell on the objects scattered on the floor: Cap's rigid blue helmet, and the broken wooden shield, its bright colors marred with blood. The white star on his chest was also bloodstained, now, and the tattered blue sleeves showed bloodstains on one side, hints of silver machinery on the other.

The Soldier tilted his head toward his right arm. The material of the uniform was torn, which was convenient, though he thought it would not have made a significant barrier in any case. He pressed his cheek to the inside of his arm, just where the brachial artery ran close to the surface, sandwiching the wicked point of the gag between flesh and flesh. 

It was the work of a second to force the point into his arm at the place where he could feel the pulse beating, and he threw his head back in a single motion, ripping the vessel open wide. He saw Rollins and Rumlow look down from their kiss as the blood sprayed out, and if he could have moved his mouth under the gore-dripping gag he would have smiled at their loud-voiced dismay.

The mission was over now.

* * *

A dim sense of recognition flared when the Soldier saw the uniform worn by the man who came to sabotage the helicarrier. He had no memory of seeing the uniform before, only a certainty that the blue suit with its gaudy star and stripes indicated blood and pain and failure to come.

The Soldier stood firm. The blood and the pain and the failure would not be his. He would obey orders. He had a mission.


End file.
